


high voltage when we kiss

by Anonymous



Series: CARGO [2]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Banter, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Making Out, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), One Shot, so fucking oblivious my god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:20:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28312245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “We could just like, kiss, you know that, right?” George says one day.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: CARGO [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2073561
Comments: 29
Kudos: 471
Collections: Anonymous





	high voltage when we kiss

“We could just like, kiss, you know that, right?” George says one day. 

It’s been a day like any other, and they’ve ended it by settling comfortably on either side of the couch. Tonight they’re scrolling through their phones, talking intermittently and sharing stupid memes. On other nights, they watch movies, or brainstorm video ideas, or call Sapnap and make fun of him for still being in school. 

This is common, something they do with a regularity and fervor that's almost ritualistic. What’s uncommon, however, is George’s out of the blue suggestion and the casual sincerity in his tone. Usually, it’s Dream who says things like that, teasing and complimenting and flirting (not so) jokingly with his best friend. 

You’d think someone so confident would be able to take what he dishes out, but apparently not. All Dream can do is stare at George, uncomprehending.

“WHAT? GEORGE!” It’s not hard to play the part of ‘shocked and slightly appalled best friend’, because he is in fact, shocked and slightly appalled. The rising tide of hope in his stomach is aggressively shoved down, because _it’s a joke, it’s a joke, it’s a joke, he’s joking, he doesn’t like you back._

“Well I'm not wrong, am I, Dream. We could just kiss, and no one would ever know.” George shrugs, tucking a leg under himself. He hasn’t even looked at Dream, scrolling idly through his phone as if his best friend’s brain isn’t malfunctioning right in front of him.

“GEORGE! WHAT- WHERE DID THIS COME FROM?” 

“I was just saying it, jeez, no need to yell, Dream.” And George has the absolute gall to scoff at him, as if Dream is the one being unreasonable. As if he hasn’t just not-so-subtly suggested they should _kiss._

George’s eyes are still pointedly glued to his phone. It makes the blond wonder what could _possibly_ be more attention grabbing than this conversation. 

What Dream doesn’t notice is how George’s face is flushing slightly pink, how he’s not scrolling anymore, dark eyes unfocused on the screen. He doesn’t notice the way his friend's fingers twitch like he wants to reach out and grab something, nor the way his toes curl in embarrassment.

“You’re so annoying, George.” But he can’t bring himself to look away, can’t go back to scrolling through Instagram again. The need to see this conversation through to the end is overwhelming, but he can’t bring himself to speak. 

Then George looks at him. And like, holy fuck.

Dream’s had his fair share of crushes, admired and memorised the faces of enough pretty people to fill a museum (if only he could paint).

But George is on a whole new level of beauty. He reminds Dream of a baroque painting, milky skin contrasted sharply against burnt mahogany hair. 

He can barely hold normal eye contact on a good day, but the stare George is giving him right now is completely unfair. Especially after that conversation, especially after everything he’s made Dream feel. 

“Oh, am I?” George’s tone is silky and coy, sending the taste of raspberry chocolate down Dream’s tongue. On top of that, he's faced with a half-lidded gaze and a devious smirk - the hitch in his breath is unavoidable.

The way George’s face lights up at the sound, like he’s just solved a particularly irksome line of code, is just as unavoidable. 

This would be the moment on stream where Dream fires back and teases George into embarrassed silence. This is real life, though, and it’s so much harder to pretend he’s not desperately crushing on his best friend when they’re right next to each other. 

“Y-yeah.” _Fuck._ The break in his voice, the goddamn stutter, there is no way George hasn’t heard it. Flames curl underneath his skin, shame and want and George’s half lidded gaze making up the kindling. 

“Come here, Dream.” And he does, shuffling along the couch until their thighs are almost touching. He keeps his eyes trained on the hardwood floor, pretends it’s more interesting than the man by his side. 

“What are you gonna do? Kiss me?” It comes out as a plea, not at all challenging like he’d intended. He can only pray George is too oblivious to hear it. 

“Yes.”

_Holy shit._

George leans in, and he closes his eyes on instinct, shutting them tightly out of pure anxiety.

For a moment he feels his best friend pause, a pit in his gut opening up at the thought that this is all just a cruel, cruel joke. That George is about to pull away, laugh in his face and say “Sike!”. That George is going to realise how much Dream _wants_ this, how much he wants to pull George down and kiss him senseless. 

That George is going to realise it’s not a joke, that none of it has ever been. That George is going to leave, disgusted with him, and they’re never going to talk again. 

He’s about to open his eyes, avoid George’s gaze and hope his voice doesn’t crack when he asks “What?”, but then there are lips on his. Lips that are soft, warm, insistent. Lips that are _George’s._

Dream’s kissed people before. He’s had girlfriends, hookups, done all the things teenagers at parties do. But kissing George, his best fucking friend of many years, his crush of even longer, makes him feel like he’s in that stupid hot tub all over again.

It feels like floating, body dangled over the edge of a cliff with his heart and stomach tilting dangerously down his throat.

He barely even realises he’s frozen stiff until George starts to falter. The thought of this ending so soon kicks him into gear and he kisses back, hands gripping the couch below.

George is warm, a comforting presence by his side. They're almost touching, yet it still feels like there’s an ocean between them - until his hands come to rest on Dream’s chest. The sudden contact is electric, and Dream almost cries from it, too much and not enough all at once.

The hands push slowly, and he complies before he even realises what it is he’s doing, leaning down until his back hits the fabric. They’re still kissing, and George’s hands stay resting on his chest, burning holes into his skin. 

It’s uncomfortable, his legs scrunched under George and he internally curses his stupid height. The brunet seems to sense his discomfort because he shifts, moving his legs. 

He stills for a moment like he’s thinking, and Dream just barely resists asking him what's wrong. But then George is crawling on top of him, and every coherent thought scatters out his ears.

The brunet’s thighs are warm against his own, planes of skin touching as they bracket his legs. Dream knows that George’s thighs will leave imprints where they’ve touched, branding him for everyone to see. The thought of George leaving marks on him makes him squirm, something hot and heavy settling deep in his gut.

The hands on his chest trail down to the hem of his shirt but go no further, fiddling with the fabric as if asking for permission. Dream takes the hint and moves his own hands up, resting them on George’s waist. He squeezes gently and tries not to think about how small George is.

Almost immediately the hands slip under his shirt, trailing up the sides of his stomach. The touch is a breath of fresh air against his heated skin, and he tries not the squirm at the feeling.

He can feel the drumming of someone's heart against his chest. George’s or his own, he can’t tell - maybe it’s both. Maybe they’ve become one, the brunet fitting perfectly within all the holes peppering Dream’s heart.

And with that, he crashes back to reality. Falls from the heavenly crest of a cloud and lands harshly on the unforgiving ground, because _holy shit, George is straight._

_I’m making out with my best friend, who is straight, who doesn’t like me back._

Remembering that George doesn’t want this like he does is a punch to the gut, and the brunet's weight on him becomes oppressive. George’s fingers no longer leave electricity in their wake, and his thighs feel like a cage, trapping Dream into a prison of his own making.

He feels George’s body tense and knows this is the beginning of the end.

George pulls away, leaves his hands on Dream’s ribcage.

“Alright?” The word comes out raw and wrecked, and Dream can’t help but shudder, knowing he did that to George. They’re so close, breathing in each other's air. Everything feels so fragile - like if he dares opens his mouth all this will shatter. 

George looks so pretty, with his ruddy cheeks and his cherry-red lips. Dream lets his gaze roam, taking in every inch of the man above him, committing it to memory. It’s completely unsubtle, but he can’t bring himself to care, teetering over the edge already. 

His friend will hate him after this anyways, so why not live in the moment?

With that thought, he snakes a hand around to the nape of George’s neck and pulls the brunet in again, greedily drinking in the noise of surprise from above. The rough start feels wrong, nothing at all like the euphoria of the first kiss. They slow together and it feels so natural, falling into a gentle rhythm without even needing to speak.

It’s more confident this time, the both of them slowly growing accustomed to the other. Dream starts playing with the short strands of hair at the nape of George’s neck, feeling more than hearing the noise the brunet makes in response. Intrigued, he tugs, and George fucking _moans_ into his mouth. He goes a little lightheaded at the sound and tugs again, desperate to hear it again.

George lets out another gorgeous sound, but before Dream has the chance to tug once more, he finds himself gasping. 

Lithe fingers have begun to move with fervor under his shirt, dragging trails of frostbite against his molten skin. George licks into his mouth, swallowing up the noise of surprise Dream lets out. He doesn’t stop there, pulling back to bite at his bottom lip, deepening the kiss until the blond can barely think. 

He loses himself in every overwhelming sensation, mind chanting a prayer of _georgegeorgegeorge._ George’s lips on his, George’s thighs bracketing his, George’s hands roaming across his skin.

It’s too much for him to handle, yet he can’t help but crave more. He wants to call George _mine,_ wants to hold him close and memorise every freckle, every twitch of muscle, every beautiful noise. Wants to cuddle and hold and touch and wake up every morning to George’s sleepy smile. 

He wants more than George will ever, ever be able to give him. It hurts, knowing that, and a ball of something nauseating and cold starts growing within his ribcage.

Pulling away from George is a chore, and he regrets it the moment he does. He can’t bear meeting the eyes of the man above him, afraid of what he’ll see. 

For a moment they’re panting in unison, George’s breath washing over his jaw. For a moment, he can pretend everything is going to be okay.

“George.” He breathes. It’s the first thing he’s said since they started kissing. 

“I love you. Like- like actually. I know you just wanna be friends, but George-” Before his confession can turn into a full-blown self-deprecating rant, George kisses him. His brain crashes for what is probably the hundredth time that hour, every roiling thought forgotten in favour of kissing him back. 

It’s different this time, George pressing so hard Dream is sure he’ll be left with bruises. It’s over too quickly, George pulling away just as Dream had been about to tug his hair again. For an embarrassing moment, Dream chases his lips, before he catches himself and retreats in shame.

George’s face splits into a dizzying smile. His hands move from under Dream’s shirt, and the blond barely manages to swallow down a discontent whine. Barely a moment later, they come up to cradle his jaw, and Dream wonders if this is what dying feels like.

Before he can convince himself George is making fun of him, taking some sadistic delight in embarrassing him, the brunet speaks.

“You’re such an idiot,” and oh. _Oh._ Not even the cruelest parts of his brain could interpret that as a rejection. Dream realises the smile on George’s face is fond, almost giddy.

“I just _made out_ with you, Dream. Of course I don’t want us to be just friends.” He rubs soft circles into Dream’s cheeks, the pads of his fingertips soft against his skin. The touch no longer feels like ice. He doesn’t lean into it though, staring up in bemusement.

“Wait, but- George, aren’t you straight?” 

“No, Dream you idiot. Did you actually think that?” He says it too fondly to be mocking, but Dream finds himself flushing in embarrassment anyways. George leans down to press a kiss to each of his heated cheeks. 

There’s something ballooning in his chest, engulfing his heart, his stomach, his lungs. His insides swoop like he’s just been thrown off the top of a rollercoaster. A grin he can’t stop tugs at his cheeks, mirroring George’s in his giddiness. 

Dream finds himself trying to speak but the words trip over his teeth and get tangled up in his tongue, falling haphazardly from the corners of his smile. He tries to find the words and stutters again, flushing even darker at his own inability to speak.

George’s smile grows ever larger, shoulders shaking like he’s holding in the beginnings of a laugh. The sight renders him speechless, a lovesick fool in the face of George’s endearing smile. Finally giving into the fact that comprehensible speech has failed him, he resorts to making an unintelligible noise, half groan and half frustrated plea. 

George is truly giggling above him now, whole body shaking with it. His nose scrunches cutely as he giggles, the sound bright and airy and full. He wants to hear that sound forever, wants to make George happy like this for the rest of his life. 

It takes George a minute or so to calm down, and Dream uses that time to simply stare at the man above him. Now that he’s allowed this, now that he knows George likes him back, he doesn’t bother hiding, doesn’t bother masking the longing on his face. 

“You’re so cute.” Dream only has the time to think, _no you,_ before George is kissing him again. It dissolves his mind to mush, neurons melting and nerve fibers spazzing. As much as he wants to kiss George forever, he finds himself pulling away again. 

He steadies his hands on George’s hips and sits them both up, shifting the brunet until he’s straddling Dream. Taking advantage of George’s momentary surprise, Dream leans in to press kisses everywhere he can reach. 

His cheeks are the first to be assaulted, followed quickly by his forehead, his nose, his jaw. He doesn’t bother lingering, certain now that he’ll have all the time in the world to get to know every inch of George. 

The brunet in question is sputtering, giggling nonsensically under the avalanche of affection. He leans back after a moment, cheeks split wide as he tries to catch his breath. Dream whines at that and pulls George closer, hips flush against his own. 

He wastes no time before kissing George again, getting in as many pecks as he can while George is still within range. 

“Dream, ugh, stop.” The brunet complains, twisting his head to get away from the assault. A stranger might interpret it as a rejection, if not for the lovestruck, absolutely head-over-heels look in his eyes, paired perfectly with an equally dopey smile.

“But George!” He whines, pulling back for only a moment. “You like me, so that means I can kiss you now!”

“Dream, we’re not even dating yet. Maybe you should ask me out first, hm?” George turns his head so they’re face to face, a daring glint in his eye. He’s smirking, just slightly, cocky and confident. 

“What, am I stealing your virtue?” Dream teases, heart jackrabbiting in his chest. 

“Yes, Dream, I’m saving myself till marriage.” 

“Ugh, George, I don’t wanna wait that long.” 

“I’m _kidding,_ just ask me out already.” George huffs, pouting adorably. Dream’s brain switches on the autopilot while he panics internally at George’s forwardness. Not that he doesn’t want to ask him out - just that he really, really isn’t used to his friend acting like this.

Unfortunately for him, his automatic response is to mock George's accent. 

“Oh, greatest Georgie, will you do the honour of being my boyfriend?” 

“Dream!” George exclaims, sounding so ridiculously offended that Dream can’t help but burst out laughing. He’s lightheaded within seconds, and George’s batting at his chest is futile at easing his mirth. Before long, George is giggling uncontrollably, spurred on by Dream’s characteristic wheezes.

Calming down takes longer than it should, gulps of air interrupted by skittish giggling. Eventually though, they’re breathing somewhat normally, both slightly exhausted after their shared giggle fit.

“Alright!” Dream breathes in one last time, steadying himself. Preparing the question in his head is a little dizzying and for a moment, he’s struck dumb that this is finally happening. 

George is in his lap, smiling up at him with the same lovestruck look Dream gives _him_ when he thinks George isn’t looking. 

“Alright. George, will you be my boyfriend?”

“That wasn’t so hard now, was it? Yes, Dream, I will.” George shifts in his lap, smile still dizzyingly fond. He cups Dream’s jaw with his hands again and brings them in for another kiss, tender and passionate and so, so comforting. 

Dream wraps his arms around George’s waist, rubbing gentle circles into the dips in his hip bones, holding him as close as is comfortably possible.

They stay like that for hours, revelling in each other's warmth. Staying awake is fruitlessly chased after, but sleep ends up consuming them both. 

Together, they fall asleep on the couch, tucked snugly into each other's arms.

**Author's Note:**

> title from "cardiac arrest" by bad suns, woodysproduce remix


End file.
